The History of Love: A Novel

Don’t little children, awakened one morning and told, “Now you’re five!”—don’t they wail at the universe’s descent into chaos? The sun slowly dying, the spiral arm spreading, the molecules drifting apart second by second toward our inevitable heat death—shouldn’t we all wail to the stars?

She pleads silently, Never grow old, never die, knowing it’s too much to ask. My rock, my fortress, my deliverer.

So love remains powerful, subjectively powerful: one of those rare experiences where, on the basis of chance inscribed in a moment, you attempt a declaration of eternity. “Always” is the word used to declare eternity. Because you cannot know what that “always” means or how long it will last.

Less sighs and breathes in the night. Above them, the Milky Way rises in a plume of smoke. He turns to his friend in the firelight. “Happy anniversary, Lewis.” “Thank you. Clark and I are divorcing.” Less sits straight up on his cushion. “What?” Lewis shrugs. “We decided a few months ago. I have been waiting to tell you.” “Wait wait wait, what? Wha